When I saw the name of the town, I couldn’t resist stopping to take a picture of my Tiger in front of it.

I only wish I could’ve positioned my camera with the self-timer so I could be in there next to the arrow. Unfortunately the sign was near a highway exit ramp. Since I’m already pressing my luck with cameras I didn’t need this one getting run over.

Several times during this trip I’d thought about what a fantastic motorcycle this Tiger is. Maybe it isn’t as sexy or lithe as say a Speed Triple, but it runs like a top and always seems well suited to the job I’m using it for.

During my Pennsylvania rambling road trip to nowhere, I ping-ponged around the state visiting things that I’d long wanted to see but had never made time to. One of those stops was to visit my first Madonna of the Trail on US40 in Beallsville, Pa.

Just look at this lady.

One kid on the hip, another bawling and snot-nosed tugging on her too long, too hot, too annoying skirt, dragging a rifle (probably to shoot a rabid bear) all while keeping her trap shut with the patience of a saint while her husband drives their covered wagon 30 miles in the wrong direction because he won’t stop and ask for directions. What mom hasn’t been there?

I raise my glass to the pioneer mother Madonnas. Cheers, ladies. We still feel you.